


Sexy Weapon

by Quiet_Shadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Crush, Corsetry, Crack, Driving The Other Side To Distraction With The Sexy, He Got Away While He Still Could, Humor, Lace Panties, Lingerie, M/M, Negotiations, Ratchet Was Smart, Sexy Times, Unfair Tactical Advantage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: Not for the first time in his life – and for what felt like the hundredth timesince this very meeting had started- Optimus Prime blessed Alpha Trion to have given him a facemask.A pity he hadn’t seen fit to also give him a visor too, he thought piteously as he tried to look like hewasn’tstaring at Megatron – which, sadly, fooled no one. His only comfort was that at least he wasn’t the only mech staring and potentially refraining from dropping his jaw or, more humiliating, from drooling over the table.Or: The Autobots and Decepticons attempt to negociate a ceasefire and it would be a lot easier if the Decepticons weren't using a new secret weapon/tactical advantage to drive Optimus Prime and his mechs to distraction. If only they could stop staring at Megatron's codpiece... Or his thighs... Or the damnedcorset!
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Sexy Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture: https://yamiquietshadowflo.tumblr.com/post/611383793503322112/doriftokingu-i-got-some-copics-and-the-first
> 
> After seeing it, I just... wanted to write something with Megatron in the same get-up. This is the result ^^

Not for the first time in his life – and for what felt like the hundredth time _since this very meeting had started_ \-- Optimus Prime blessed Alpha Trion to have given him a facemask.

A pity he hadn’t seen fit to also give him a visor too, he thought piteously as he tried to look like he _wasn’t_ staring at Megatron – which, sadly, fooled no one. His only comfort was that at least he wasn’t the only mech staring and potentially refraining from dropping his jaw or, more humiliating, from drooling over the table.

::Sir, please, control your vents,:: Prowl sent him over a private comm channel, sounding half-exasperated and half-commiserating. ::It’s unbecoming of you, especially during such important negotiations!::

::Eh, give him a break, Prowler,:: Jazz sent over the same line before Optimus could even think of sending a reply – which would have probably been a denegation or a protest he wasn’t venting, which would have been a total lie because his internal temperature had clung exponentially since the start of the meeting and he _knew it_. ::You have to admit, it’s a pretty hot sight!::

::I,:: Prowl replied frostily, the king of frostily which hinted _someone_ was going to sleep on the couch tonight and ouch, Optimus was already feeling sorry for Jazz because once they were done here, the Prime probably wasn’t the only one who would need to, uh, ‘seek some release’, ::admit no such thing. I would like to remind you it’s a peace summit, not a peep show!::

::Yeah?:: Ironhide said grumpily over the line. ::Then go and say it to Megatron and the rest of his cronies, will you?::

Prowl’s face took a weird expression for a micro-second, somewhere in-between a grimace and a look of panic. ::I… do not think it’d be wise to point out their… tactical advantage… aloud.::

:: _Tactical advantage_ , suuure,:: Jazz drawled. ::Me think someone is enjoying the show too and is too proud to say it.::

::I don’t…: Prowl started, only for Red Alert to burst in the conversation.

::Will you shut up already?! In case you have forgotten, we’re supposed to negotiate terms of a lasting ceasefire and truce and to hammer out fair conditions for both sides to make it last. And so far, you’ve been so distracted the Decepticons have managed to slide several motions in their favors with barely an argument!::

::Easy to say for the mech who’s not in the room,:: Ironhide said snidely all while shifting discreetly in his seat. Optimus watched him from the corner of his optics, feeling vaguely glad he wasn’t the only one who felt bothered behind his panel.

::But who is recording everything,:: Jazz pointed out, ::and I want a copy. Oh wow, look at how great it makes Soundwave’s aft appears! Uh, on second thought, no, don’t look too closely,:: Jazz ‘coughed’ into the line as Prowl’s doorwings twitched minutely.  
Optimus didn’t bother answering – and he didn’t bother looking at Soundwave, period. His optics were all for Megatron.

Megatron who looked unfairly, slagging _hot_ in dark red lingerie that clung to his frame.

Once again, he swallowed. Prowl may have not been completely wrong using the term ‘tactical advantage’, but Optimus personally thought the words _secret weapon_ applied better. Cybertronian-sized lingerie should certainly be written down as one, given how distracting it was to look at.

_Especially_ when the Decepticons made a point of showing off.

Which was Megatron was definitely doing, sitting on the edge of a desk with a datapad in his hand he was ‘conscientiously’ reading aloud from, one leg crossed over the other and lightly bouncing, looking like nothing was wrong at all with his current position OR the fact he was wearing a dark red _corset_ that clung snugly to his frame and underlined the (artificial?) thinness of his waist, a dark red corset which included a _garter belt_ and _ribbon suspenders_ linked to _stockings_ surrounding his long legs.

The color was a perfect fit with Megatron’s grey and black plating, too, Optimus thought in dismay, wondering if the Warlord had picked the color himself or if Soundwave or Starscream had helped him. The two of them wore perfectly color-adjusted ensembles too, after all, to say nothing of the rest of Starscream’s trine.

The voices of the previous Primes in the Matrix were definitely approving and he was certain he had heard at least one of the Ancients, dignified Primes wolf-whistle like those characters in the human cartoons Spike had showed them, which only added to the uncomfortableness of the situation.

Optimus should have said something. They should all have said something, the very moment the Decepticons had arrived for the peace summit and the Autobots had seen what they were _wearing_. They should have told Megatron it was hardly an appropriate ‘gear’ to wear and send them to remove it. At the very least, Optimus should have said something about Megatron taking a seat **on the desk** , tell him it was hardly a position for a meeting and he should go back to sit _behind_ the desk. Tell Skywarp to stop rising from his seat so regularly to obviously exchange datapads with Starscream, wiggling his aft and showing off his purple, stripped panties as he did so. Tell Starscream to stop doing the same thing with Megatron, showing off his own red and blue panties and his red lace stockings. Tell Thundercracker to stop _purposely_ dropping things on the floor and going back to pick them, giving them all a good view of his own panties-covered aft.

But the Autobots hadn’t said anything. They couldn’t. Their collective glossas seemed tied, for once. Prowl had managed to rise a vague protest over the disruptions, but the Decepticons had looked at him as if they didn’t understand and the Praxian had quickly dropped the subject, desperately trying to look like he wasn’t staring at them. 

Plus, well, Optimus _had_ committed the mistake of telling Megatron to make himself comfortable. The Warlord had pointed it out himself; Megatron had only obeyed him, much to Prime’s mortification. 

No wonder Ratchet, sneaky fragger that he was, had jumped at the first opportunity to leave the meeting, quoting a _medical emergency_ to excuse himself. True, maybe there _was_ an emergency which required his competences but given how he had bragged about First Aid’s progresses the very morning before, Optimus was strongly doubting it. 

Whatever the real reason, Ratchet had yet to reappear. Optimus envied him. He too would have liked to disappear. 

He was a Prime, a (in theory) religious and political leader on his own planet, he was the leader of the Autobots, the bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, Megatron’s archnemesis. He had always faced danger head-on and had never asked from his troops something he hadn’t been willing to do himself. 

(Except for Special Ops and the Wreckers; half the time, he didn’t know what they were up to, which was frustrating, but Jazz and Prowl both insisted he _didn’t need to know_ and he had yet to make them bulge on it.) 

He couldn’t flee! He _especially_ couldn’t flee from _Megatron_! 

Oh, but oh sweet Primus, it was so tempting, though, he thought as Megatron uncrossed his legs briefly and he found himself starting at the grey mech’s codpiece. It didn’t help _at all_ that, to further highlight the red of the lingerie, Megatron had seen fit to paint a dark red line of the same hue as his ‘outfit’ right over said codpiece. 

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to rise from his seat, stiffly walk to Megatron and push him to lie flat on the desk he was currently sitting on so casually before roaming his hands all over the mech’s plating and under that corset, untie those tiny ribbons and press his lips against that tantalizing red line on his panel until it opened for him and he could _taste_ …!

“A problem, Prime?” Megatron asked fake-sweetly and Optimus blinked, looking down at himself and realizing with a startle that he had half-risen from his seat as it was. 

All optics were on him, the Decepticons’ and his own mechs’ alike. Starscream and Megatron were both smirking and Skywarp was grinning like an idiot, Thundercracker was looking as impassive as Soundwave, though his wings were flipping quickly, Prowl looked disapproving but not surprised, Jazz looked like he commiserated and Ironhide… Well, Ironhide’s grim face and his own looks toward Megatron meant that Optimus would either receive help pinning Megatron down or that the Prime would have a rival to, uh, ‘undress’ the enemy leader. 

Awkwardly, Optimus coughed and sat back, quickly checking himself and almost sighing in relief over finding his panel was still firmly closed. “No, no problem,” he managed to say, voice miraculously steady. “But… maybe we could take a break? Take the opportunity to stretch our limb and clear our processors?” he offered hopefully. 

A break would be great; he could run to the washrack and… take a hold of the problem. Right. A hold. 

“Oh, I’m sure a break won’t be necessary,” Megatron replied with the same fake-sweet tone as before, smiling broadly. “We’re making such good progresses, I’m sure we can be finished within the megacycle if we’re not interrupted. Wouldn’t that be great to finalize this treaty so soon?” 

“Right. Great. Of course,” Optimus nodded weakly, fighting not to squirm as Megatron leaned back and the ribbons lacing his corset grew tauter. It looked so close to bursting, Optimus was certain that if he just tugged at one the corset would come apart and reveal _Megatron’s glorious chest_ … 

Argh! 

Primus, it was a nightmare, he thought in dismay. Optimus was never to get out of this room with his dignity intact at this rate. 

But, he consoled himself as he forced himself to calm down and listened to Megatron ramble about energon stocks and the allotment the Decepticons should receive as their ‘fair’ share, he wouldn’t be the only one. 

After all, unless he was missing his cue, it was Prowl’s panel he had heard snap open just now… 

**End**


End file.
